Fade
by Osiris's Consort
Summary: A oneshot series. Himura Kenshin had died three times in his life. His third death was in the darkness. Betrayed again, betraying himself-he failed again. Kenshin/Kaoru
1. Fade

FADE

_(Standard disclaimers apply. RuroKen and all its characters are property of Nobuhiro Watsuki…)_

Maybe they had all been in love with Kaoru.

Even the ones that didn't feel. Even the ones who had barely known her at all. Every one of them came for her. Every person, except one.

Sekihara Tae laid flowers on the grave and wept and tried to force her famous businesswoman smile. She made a quiet joke, asking who would pay Sanosuke's tab now, and left the funeral in tears. The Akabeko was closed that day, because even the infallible Tae wasn't a perfect businesswoman.

Takani Megumi threw her bouquet at the grave and stormed off in fury. Illogical and irrational it may be, but she was _so angry_, because Kaoru had had _one_ duty and that had been to _stay alive_, if only for Ken-san's sake! She'd had no task besides that and still couldn't succeed. So Megumi ran the whole way to the clinic and then hid herself away to wail between its solid walls, and the tears of anguish didn't stop until Sanosuke came, hours later, to hold her carefully through the storm. She hadn't wanted their rivalry to end like this…

Myojin Yahiko offered his flowers and not another word or tear, but he held onto Tsubame's hand through the whole funeral and let her do the crying for him. There was a cold numbness frothing in his chest that had frozen up all his tears. When he went back to the dojo, he ran every exercise Kaoru had taught him and smashed four shinai on the targets, just to see if the movement could warm him again. He worked himself until Tsubame was screaming and begging for him to stop before he hurt himself, and Yahiko threw the bamboo sword down for her sake, even as he wondered: _why does that matter anymore?_

Sagara Sanosuke didn't say a through the whole funeral. He was quiet and still because he knew that the moment he moved, things would break and people would be injured. His hands shook, his pulverized right fist trembling with fury and agony, and he wondered briefly if killing someone might be good therapy. He wondered if he maybe thought of Kaoru as a little sister. He wondered if maybe he wasn't some little bit in love with her, the way everyone around her was. His thoughts wandered and strayed onto a track of hatred and vengeance, a familiar, well-worn track that Zanza had walked for years, until Kenshin had beaten him off of it. After a few hours, he came to the slow, seeping conclusion that had tickled at the base of his brain: he was going to kill Yukishiro Enishi. Slowly. Painfully. There was a comfort in the promise of retribution that couldn't be found in tears or gentle words. The vow of revenge finally calmed him enough that he could stand and go after the Fox Lady and hold her while she cried, because he'd been a little bit in love with Kaoru, and he was still a lot in love with Megumi.

Saito Hajime came, even though no one expected him to. He'd hardly talked to, let alone known the girl, and a large percentage of their rare encounters had been hostile. Several times he'd used her as a tool to bait the Battosai, but that didn't mean he'd disrespected her. He acknowledged her as a woman strong in her own way, and appreciated her steadfast devotion to the Battosai. He laid a single flower on her grave and gave her a short prayer. In the back of his head, he whispered to her that she would have gotten along well with his Tokio, and that he wished he'd known her longer. And if his wife noticed that night that her husband was quiet and uneasy in a way he never was, she acknowledged it only with a soft hug and softer kiss, and Saito had to pity the Battosai, who had lost this comforting touch forever.

Makimachi Misao came long after everyone else. Even after hearing the news, she'd clung to her customary cheer, for Yahiko's sake, and Sanosuke's, and her own. When she finally allowed herself to cry, it was horrible and hard and desperate, and her small, sixteen-year-old form shook and almost broke with the force of her sobs. She'd wanted to be alone when the tears finally came, but Aoshi didn't permit it. He sat and watched and didn't comfort her at all. There were no words that could soothe the loss of a compatriot, a best friend, a sister. Aoshi was better at keeping his silence than anyone else. he watched her cry and did not reach out to her, but his mind was working wildly, searching for a way to assuage those tears.

Shinomori Aoshi was the last person to visit Kamiya Kaoru's grave. He'd exchanged words with the girl once, maybe twice, but Misao had told him everything that could be known about the young kenjustu instructor. And somewhere in him, he simply had to respect a woman whose mere existence could make Himura so strong. When Aoshi went to Kaoru's grave, he did not come to mourn, but to fight. Aoshi was certain of very few truths in the world, but there were two that he would never allow to change: Misao could not be sad, and Battosai could not be beaten. There was one proof, one solution to these broken truths, and that was Kamiya Kaoru. He went to her grave with the determination to bring her back, even if he had to drag her soul from heaven with his own fingernails and teeth.

Maybe they had all been in love with Kaoru.

Every one of them came for her. Every person, except one.

He _couldn't_.

Physically could not. Legs couldn't move without blood pulsing through them. A throat couldn't pray or mourn without air flowing through it. Eyes couldn't cry without life behind them.

In that first second, that one instant, the moment he stepped into the dojo and saw Kaoru lying against the wall…

Enishi had reached into his chest and torn out all his vital organs. Throat, lungs, and heart—all ripped away in a moment of indescribable loss and unspeakable agony.

And that moment had stretched on…

And on…

And on…

And he couldn't breathe.

It was more than agony. It was worse than death. This was Enishi's true jinchuu. Living hell.

A world without _Kaoru_…

It was unendurable.

He found the breath to choke her name one final time, without the honorific she'd always tried to make him drop, because this was _Kenshin_, not rurouni, Himura Kenshin calling out to his Kaoru, his everything, calling out one desperate and final plea for her to be alive.

But Kamiya Kaoru did not stir.

And Himura Kenshin was dead.

He couldn't go to the funeral. There was only one grave dug and only one coffin prepared. There wasn't room for a second corpse there.

His chest moved up and down, air moved in and out of him, but there was no breath. His body moved, his muscles contracted and extended, but he had no pulse. The whole of him felt too heavy. Exhausted. Like dragging a cadaver on his back.

Tomoe's death had destroyed him. He'd wanted to die with her. After that, when the world forced him to move again, he'd wanted to kill for her.

_Kaoru's_ death…

He had no words for it.

There were no words to describe the _agony_. His vitals torn away, his life stolen, and his corpse forced into a sick semblance of life—how could there be words? There were no words for the loss, the desperation. The undeniable knowledge that Kaoru was gone. _Forever_.

He didn't even have the strength to die anymore.

Instead, he wrapped the chains around the hilt of the sakabatou and threw himself into Rakuninmura. It was his way of telling the world—a world that would inevitably come find him—to _stay away_.

The man they had called Himura Kenshin was dead.

Leave his corpse be.

Leave it to rot.

Disgusting.

He was rurouni again, without Kaoru to tie him down. His soul wandered somewhere along the boundary of life and death, sliding between one and the other. He might have died a few times. Whenever his eyes opened, he never knew whether it would be Rakuninmura or the wasteland of bones that he would see. He didn't care which was there. Wherever he was—wherever Kaoru was _not_—it was all hell.

Perhaps he was already dead, and just dreaming.

Tomoe walked with him on a snowy night.

"You love her more than me," she accused him.

Kaoru was in his arms, in the fireflies.

Soft and warm and beautiful and innocent and _alive_…!

"I love her more than _everything_."

Kaoru's quiet whisper in his ears, from miles away, and he lay, spent and without strength, at Shisio's feet:

"Let's go home to Tokyo. Together."

_NEVER AGAIN._

He howled his agony.

And Tomoe smiled at him. "If you love her so much, why are you here with me?"

A smile he'd fought to win for fifteen years, and when he looked at her he could only feel numbness until she continued: "Enishi's jinchuu is done. You've matched my pain for pain. Now go, and don't come back to this day." Her back to him, she paced ahead, fingers reaching out to catch a bloodstained snowflake. "This snow, this pain, this memory was _ours_." She might've been bitter and she might've been crying, but she was still smiling and he couldn't tell anything else because Rakuninmura and Tsubame and Oibore were flickering over his senses, and Tomoe was fading away from him.

"Please…stand up…once again…"

"All those who have but _one thing_ that they cannot abandon…will stand up again."

"If you love her so much, what do you hold on to me for? Go. Go and seek out the smile of the one most important to you."

"Contrary to your heart's weak delusions and doubts…your hand has been gripping on tightly, not letting go…"

And the scent of Tomoe faded from his nose, and he drew in the clean, disgusting air that stank of vile men, and he _breathed_.

"Go and seek her smile…"

"Please…save Yahiko-kun…"

And Tomoe faded from his eyes, and there was Rakuninmura and Tsubame and Yahiko, Saito, Aoshi, Misao, Sanosuke…

_KAORU._

"Go and seek her smile."

She was alive.

_She was alive_.

The chains on the sakabatou shattered, and Himura Kenshin stood up again.

…XxX…

_A/N_

_It'll undoubtedly become a one-shot series, but we'll start with this. It'll range between smut, fluff, and angst, but that's why you love me, right?_

_I wrote this during English. Wondrous what _Antigone_ does for your ability to write angst…_

_Please review, I love you all!_


	2. Death

DEATH

_(Once again, standard disclaimers. Not mine. Nobuhiro Watsuki. Yeah.)_

Himura Kenshin had died three times in his life.

His first death was in the snow.

It was Tomoe that killed him the first time. Because Tomoe had been quiet grace and icy silence and he'd desired her more than anything else in his bloodstained world. Her rare, tender smile had been the only purity that Battosai could not drown in crimson sin, the only light he could find in the darkness of his own creation. He'd thought Tomoe was his salvation, his angel—the only person in the world who could slay the manslayer, kill the hitokiri. Her true objective was terrifyingly close to that—and he'd never realized until that day just how close she'd come to ending his life. Of course, that had all changed in the end, and she threw herself away to save him—but for all she saved his body; she hadn't been able to save his mind, or his soul.

In a strange way, he felt betrayed.

And that was the first time Himura Kenshin died.

Coming back to life was…easier than it should have been. It was shamefully easy to drown his guilt in blood, to put himself in front of some random Ishin Shishi and pretend it was Tomoe at his back, Tomoe where she should have been, where he could protect her. He recklessly threw her face and her name on whoever called out to him and killed everything that came at him, and he saw the faces of the Yaminobu every time, and every time he killed he thought of a different way, a different play he could have made, all the thousands of ways the fight could have ended with Tomoe still alive…

He made it rain blood in tribute to her, and he bore the cross-shaped scar as a mark of what he'd done, because it was his blade that tore her shoulder, her chest, her heart…It was his blade, and it was his crime, his sin, his death. Hitokiri Battosai lived while Himura Kenshin died, and that was how he came back to life the first time.

His second death was in the flames.

The death Shishio Makoto wrought upon him was nothing like the first—real, physical death, the collapse of body and flesh, rather than the sudden, irreversible ending of life, love, and heart. Though he'd danced the line of death and life more times than he could count, that was the first time he truly crossed it. Even more than the battle itself, it was the day of running and fighting and stress before it—and the week of desperate, harrowing training before that—and the month of bare-essentials travel before that—and the sheer agony of walking away at the very beginning, the horrifying amount of strength it took to turn away from his Kaoru-dono at the very beginning. It had all worn down on him, ground him slowly down to a sliver of the strength he should have had. And then he'd faced a shadow of his own creation, and was cut and burned, attacked with an explosive glove, and nearly died then—and stood up to throw not just Kuzuryuusen, but Amakakeru Ryuu no Hirameki—and then to be cut and burned again.

He couldn't hold up. He moved as fast as one, but he wasn't a god.

And that was the second time Himura Kenshin died.

Coming back to life didn't take much. All it took was a few words—they say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, and maybe his failing mind just picked out the proper phrases to make him stand again. All it took was Sano yelling his name, the sight of a beaten Aoshi out of the corner of his eyes, and Saito standing straight but leaning subtly on his sword and all he could think was that, if he failed now, these precious beautiful friends would die.

And then his mind seized and threw his Kaoru-dono in his face—crying in the fireflies, gasping his name, beyond hope or help—in the gentle light before the dawn, smile trembling and fragile but still there, a beacon of hope for him, just for him—and he knew he couldn't leave her alone. Not again. It was clear how the story went from there. He stood up. He endured. Because he was Himura Kenshin, and—dead or alive—he always, always won.

His third death was in the darkness.

And—again betrayed, always betraying himself—it was _Kaoru_ who killed him. Because she died. She _died_. And it was his fault again—always his fault, always too slow, always too weak to protect the _one thing_ that needed protecting. Enishi slapped him in the face with his failure, and left Kaoru's body with his scar cut into her cheek and his guilt thrown onto her shoulders and how could he do anything then, how could he do anything except collapse under the knowledge—

He failed _again_.

And that was the third time Himura Kenshin died.

He'd thought he'd come back to life when he stood up again and the chains on the sakabatou shattered and he ran out against the man with the gun-arm to save his young friend, his protégé, his son. He'd thought he'd come back to life when he fell asleep and dreamed of Tomoe and finally found the smile he'd been longing for for the last ten years. He'd thought he'd come back to life when he faced Enishi on a bloodstained beach and screamed out the answer he'd finally, finally found.

But that wasn't true.

He didn't come back to life until he heard his name on Kaoru's lips and watched tears pool in her eyes and fell into her arms with a quiet, mumbled, "oro" just for her. He didn't come back to life until he buried his face against her skin and held her tightly and finally managed to prove to himself that she was real, really alive, really his. He didn't come back to life until he took her home to Tokyo and sent Megumi and Sano away and Yahiko to bed and dragged her into his arms. He didn't come back to life until he pressed his lips against her hair and hands and skin and he didn't come back to life until he kissed her lips and dusted his hands over every part of her body and proved to himself that she was here and whole and _his_.

How had he ever lived without her?

Himura Kenshin had died three times in his life.

He came back to life only once, when he wrapped a small, not-fragile shihandai in his arms and heard her call his name in a voice sweeter than Seijuuro Hiko's sake and looked down to find a smile, so easily given and so precious he thought his heart might explode.

He had no reason to die.

And so many sweet, beautiful, beloved reasons to live.

…XxX…

_A/N_

_Well, I finally got around to a sequel._

_Also, yes, I'm unhealthily obsessed with Depression-Kenshin. It's my third-favorite version of him. Next to Badass-Kenshin and Battosai-Kenshin. But I hate writing action so the depressed one gets all the page-time._

_Next time it'll be Aoshi/Misao or Saito/Tokio. My take on Tokio, that is._

_I actually got a few people pissed off at me for my Tomoe-bashing last time, so I did try to be nice to her this chapter. I'm sorry, best beloveds. But I really hate her._

_In any case, review, please, my darlings._


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